Ashes of the Elements

Chapter Fifteen

Silent as wraiths, they moved around the fringes of the oak grove, keeping to the shadows, pressing close to the surrounding trees.

As they passed the place where he had found the ancient ruined temple, Josse thought, I have never yet been further into the forest than this.

Amid all the other causes for concern, this was a new one. And, illogical though it was, somehow it was the most frightening.

The Abbess, he thought, more to take his mind off his apprehension than for any other reason, was obeying his command to move even more quietly. Had he not been perfectly well aware that she was behind him, he would never have guessed. Moving as if she had been specially trained for silent night operations, she made not a sound. Once or twice he had to fight the temptation to turn round and make sure she was still with him.

He would never have guessed, either, that a nun would be so well adapted for hard exercise; the pace he had set had made no concession to having a woman with him, less out of deliberate consideration for her and more because it had not entered his mind. Fear and intense concentration, he had found, tended to drive courtesy and pretty manners right out of the head.

Was she afraid? He would think no less of her if she were. How could he, when he was fearful himself? If she was afraid, she didn’t show it, which was in itself brave. As a commanding officer had once said long ago to Josse, there is no courage where there is no fear.

They had almost reached the far side of the oak grove. Entering the thick undergrowth, Josse strained his eyes for a sign of a path, however insignificant. If there were no break at all in the trees, then how were they going to proceed?

But there was a break. Hardly worthy of the name of path, a thin trickle of a track led away into the thicket. Pushing at tall, abundant bracken, which, Josse soon discovered, concealed an equal density of bramble, he led the way on towards the light.

After an unpleasant time of thrusting and edging forward, whilst keeping in mind the imperative need for silence, at last the undergrowth began to thin out. Staring ahead, Josse could see clear moonlight; they were approaching another grove.

The trees that led up to and encircled it were ancient and tall, and spaced far enough apart to allow for considerable new growth beneath them. There was, Josse thought in wonder, almost a sense of pattern about them, as if, aeons ago, someone had planted them with the intention of making an avenue. As if, wishing to honour this pathway that led to the holy grove, someone had marked it with a double row of the most sacred of trees …

For the trees that set the grove apart from the rest of the forest were, without exception, oaks.

Selecting one with a broader trunk than its fellows, Josse crept up to it, and the Abbess followed. Pressing themselves against the gnarled bark, they stared out into the moonlit space before them.

For what seemed like a long time, nothing happened.

The fire — built on a stone hearth right in the centre of the clearing — burned on brightly, sending out the occasional crackle which made them both jump. Beside it was a thick, heavy section of wood, a man’s height in length, remnant, perhaps, of a long-ago fallen tree. Staring at it, Josse was struck with the bizarre notion that it did not in fact lie there from any natural event, but that it had been placed there, after having been cut and shaped according to the dictates of some age-old ritual.

Unbidden, he recalled Sheriff Pelham’s words. They do things, when it’s full moon. And, even more worrying, the forest folk don’t like trespassers, specially not at full moon.

Was that what they were, he and the Abbess? Trespassers, about to witness some terrible rite? About to commit the forbidden infringement for which another man had been killed?

The folly of what they were doing — of what he had allowed the Abbess to persuade him to do — struck Josse like a poleaxe to the forehead. Turning, he said in a whisper, ‘Abbess, we shouldn’t be here, it’s-’

But, whatever it was, it was too late.

Someone had entered the grove.

* * *

At some time during their witnessing of what happened then, Abbess Helewise must have taken hold of his arm. He couldn’t have said exactly when; all he thought, both at the time and afterwards, was how very glad he was that she had done so. Had he not had that small human contact, he might have lost even the small amount of wits necessary to stop him doing something stupid.

Something such as responding to the blood thundering through his body and, in answer to the potent summons of all that he saw, rushing out into the moonlit clearing and begging to be allowed to join in.

Sheriff Pelham, absurd though it was, had been quite right.

Before Josse and the Abbess’s astounded eyes, just as he had said, things were indeed done under the full moon …

* * *

It began with a lone robed figure making a complete circuit of the grove. It was a woman, undoubtedly, for, apart from the long grey-white hair that hung down her back as far as her waist, she had a woman’s slight build. She held in her hand a bunch of some sort of herbs or seed-heavy grasses, and she had set light to the dried, twig-like fronds by dipping them into the fire. Waving the smouldering bunch to and fro in front of her as she slowly paced, she set clouds of smoke wafting out into the night air. Scented smoke — strongly, pungently scented.

She made her circle of the grove three times.

Then, putting the remnants of her herb bundle on to the fire, she picked up a long, straight wand. And, stepping as if in some dance, she moved all round the fire and the big log, making a pattern of some sort in the earth.

When at last she had finished, she moved to the fringes of the clearing and, for a moment, disappeared into the trees. When she emerged again into the moonlight, she was no longer alone.

She was leading by the hand a young woman. Dressed in a long flowing garment made of some sheer fabric, it was readily apparent that, beneath its folds, the girl wore nothing else. On her head, arranged on the glossy hair, was a thickly woven garland of leaves, grasses and flowers.

As the woman led the girl into the middle of the grove, the girl stopped for a brief moment and turned her face up to the night sky. As the rays of the full moon shone down on her, in the same instant Josse and the Abbess started in horrified amazement.

It was Caliste.

Josse felt the Abbess’s tension, was aware, without her having made the smallest move, that some protective instinct in her was about to prompt her into action. Bending his head so that he could speak softly right in her ear, he said, as forcefully as he could, ‘No.’

She understood. And, an instant after he had spoken, he sensed her relax.

Beckoning him close again, she said, ‘It’s not-’

Not what? He was not to find out, for, in the grove, something else was happening.

The humming had begun again, accompanied by a dull, steady drum beat. From the way the sound seemed to creep up on the awareness, Josse had an idea that it might have quietly been going on for some time. The volume was increasing rapidly, and, as it grew, the nature of the music was changing. Less like chanting, more like singing now, pure and sweet, as, at first in conflict with the chanting and then overcoming it, the melody rang out as if sung by the most perfect of heavenly choirs.

More fuel must have been added to the fire, for the smoke was thick now, its pale billows spreading right across the grove, penetrating under the trees to where Josse and the Abbess stood. It smelt of … what? Sage, and roses, and something that was reminiscent of anointing oil. Around the hearth, appearing and disappearing as the screen of smoke waxed and waned, giving the strange illusion that they were floating, were bunches of flowers tied with grass: poppies, deadly nightshade, and some leafy plant with small white blooms which Josse thought was hemlock.

The singing was much louder now. Somewhere out of sight in the trees there must be a great host of people, and-

The noise reached a deafening climax, drowning out the very power of thought. Then, with an abruptness that hurt the ears, it stopped.

In the utter silence of the moon-bathed clearing, the woman led the girl to the log. It, too, had been decorated with flowers, and at its head had been placed a pair of tall candles, burning with a steady flame.

It looked unmistakably like an altar.

The woman helped the girl to lie down, making for her a pillow of flowers. Then, moving round to stand behind the girl’s head, she took hold of the girl’s outstretched hands in what looked like a gesture of kindly companionship.

At first.

Then, as the woman’s grip moved to the girl’s wrists, it became clear that she was making sure the girl could not escape.

The singing began again. Now it was but a single voice, a woman’s, and it came from the altar.

The girl, eyes closed, was chanting.

As her voice strengthened, she began to move her body, writhing from side to side, knees bent, hips circling. Then, with a great cry, she arched her back and flung her legs wide apart.

Another figure had emerged into the moonlight. Robed and hooded, it was only the height and the breadth of shoulder that revealed it to be male; the face was hidden deep within the cowled hood.

He went to stand at the foot of the altar.

The girl had moved downwards along it and, with her wrists still pinioned by the woman, her arms were now at full stretch. The movement had made her gown ride up, so that, from the full breasts to the bare feet, she was naked. Her spread legs flopped over the edges of the tree trunk on which she lay, and her exposed groin was at waist height for the standing man.

Even as it became obvious what was about to happen, already it seemed to have begun. The man had raised the hem of his full robe so that it spread over the girl’s belly, concealing what it was that he did to her, but, visible or not, it was plain what act he was performing. Resuming her chanting, but abstractly now, with frequent breaks, she pushed herself upwards to meet him. Their movements swiftly becoming frenetic, suddenly it was over.

Stepping back from her, covering himself with his robe, the man turned and, as the thick smoke plumed up around him, he seemed to disappear.

The girl gave a small cry, a sound which, short though it was, yet contained a dread, desperate longing. As if in answer, another man appeared to take the first one’s place. Taking a little more time, he too came to a climax and then, like his predecessor, abandoned her.

Another followed, and another.

While the fifth one — a taller, stronger-looking man — was thrusting into her, meeting the savage upward push of her hips with an equal force of his own, at long last her need was met. Wrists still held firm by the woman who stood at the top of the altar, the girl raised her body, threw back her head, opened her mouth and emitted a long, piercing, triumphant cry that rang out through the oak grove and across the forest like the victory scream of some triumphant animal.

As the echoes faded and died, the girl slumped back on her tree trunk. Spent, exhausted, her legs fell either side of its girth, and, had the woman not had firm hold of her arms, it seemed she would have slipped off and fallen to the forest floor. But the woman, solicitous now, was swiftly going into action, an arm round the girl’s shoulders, free hand pulling down the flimsy, flung-back robe as she helped the girl to stand.

Then, supporting most of the girl’s weight — for her legs seemed suddenly powerless, and the little bare feet that dragged along the ground were barely moving — the woman bore her out of the brilliant moonlight and away into the black shade of the trees.

* * *

Josse, his mind and his body seething with a powerful force that he barely understood, put up his hands and rubbed hard at his face. Then, one hand still over his eyes as if, too late, he wanted to block out what he had just seen, he slid his back down the oak’s trunk and slumped at its base.

After a moment, the Abbess sat down beside him.

He couldn’t speak. Didn’t know what he would have said had he been able to.

But, after a soft clearing of the throat, she said, ‘It wasn’t Caliste. Very like her, but not her.’

And, saying the first thing that entered his head, he breathed, ‘Thank God.’ Then, after a pause: ‘How can you be so sure?’

‘The hair,’ she replied.

He pictured the girl in her wild abandon. The garland had fallen off, and the thick dark hair had flowed like a black tide over the wood of the altar.

Of course. No nun had abundant hair like that.

‘Not Caliste,’ he echoed.

‘No.’

Silence fell once more, surrounding them, suffocating them, as if someone had dropped a soft blanket on to them.

I could sleep, Josse thought vaguely. My eyelids are so heavy, I could lie down here and sleep till daybreak. Far beyond daybreak. Sleep all day, and the night after that.

He yawned hugely.

He felt the weight of the Abbess as she leaned against him, and, making an enormous effort, he turned his head a little to look at her. She had closed her eyes, and, her lips slightly apart, was breathing deeply. She seemed to have dozed off.

And why not? he thought. It’s as good a place as any. Quite comfortable, and …

He slept.

But not for long.

As if some sense of self-preservation were working in him, some relic of his soldiering past that, even in these extreme circumstances, had not deserted him, he went straight into a vivid dream.

He was in the clearing, right in it, exposed and standing alone in the moonlight. And, creeping up behind him, each carrying a spear whose tip was pointing straight at Josse’s back, stealthily came the grey-haired woman and the dark girl.

Both now were naked.

With a start and a snort, he was awake. Panting in terror, sweat breaking out all over his body, he spun round.

And banged his nose smartly on the tree trunk.

Thank God, thank God! He was not in the grove, was not about to be pierced to the heart by twin spears.

Leaping up, grabbing the Abbess’s arm, he hissed, ‘Abbess, wake up! We can’t stay here! We-’

His head began to spin. Faster, faster, until he had to turn away and vomit into the bracken.

When he could stand up, he risked a gentle swivelling of the eyes to look at her. Awake now, she, too, was looking sick. ‘What is the matter?’ she whispered. ‘We should sleep, Josse! I’m so tired…’

He took both her hands and hauled her to her feet, no easy task since she was not only tall and well-built but also a near dead weight. ‘Come on!’ He gave her a shake, and, reluctantly, she straightened up, instantly falling back to lean against the oak.

‘Oh, dear Lord!’ she whispered. ‘What…’ She frowned, then, appearing to recall where they were and what they had just witnessed, at once she seemed to come to herself. ‘We must get away,’ she stated firmly. ‘To a place of safety.’

He hustled her off, back through the trees and towards the underbrush through which they had come, all that time ago — it seemed an eternity. Fine sentiments, he thought, but it was a shame she’d spoken them out loud in such a strong voice.

Back along the overgrown path, back through the larger clearing with the fallen oaks, and well on the way to the path leading out of it. The path that would take them home.

He should have realised. Should have foreseen that, whereas he had been sick and was already on the way to recovery, she had not. Was not.

But the fact that she was hurrying along behind him must have fooled him into thinking she was all right.

As they approached the relative safety of the trees on the far side of the fallen-oak grove, Josse heard the Abbess give a low groan. Spinning round, he watched helplessly as she doubled up and retched. Then, wiping her mouth with one hand and waving him on with the other, she said, ‘Go on! Hurry up and get under cover!’

Picking up her urgency, he ran.

Heard her running after him, one pace, two, three, four, her footfalls sounding hollow on the firm ground.

Then, as he ducked his head and raced in under the trees, he heard a sickening thump.

He stopped dead and spun round in a single action, to see her slumped on the ground under the very first of the circling trees.

She had just been sick, and was probably feeling horribly dizzy. In no state, in any case, to run headlong through a forest where there were overhanging trees with low branches.

Josse might have had the presence of mind to duck, but Helewise hadn’t. She had run slap into the stout branch of an oak tree, and she had knocked herself out.

Josse, falling to his knees beside her, could see the blood already spreading out from under the starched white linen that bound her forehead. In sudden dread, roughly he pushed aside her wimple and put his fingers to her throat.

For a terrible few seconds he could feel no pulse.

But then he could. Irregular, and quite feeble, but still a pulse.

Fervently he said aloud, ‘Thank God! Oh, thank God!’

From the profound shadows beside the path, someone said, ‘Amen.’